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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25871809">Not Too Much</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/writeitininkorinblood/pseuds/writeitininkorinblood'>writeitininkorinblood</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>I'll Pray For You [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Cursed (TV 2020)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gawain being just like the best boyfriend ever okay he's so good, M/M, Mentions of self-harm, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Scars, touch-starved Lancelot</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 08:40:03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,410</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25871809</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/writeitininkorinblood/pseuds/writeitininkorinblood</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Lancelot isn't used to this whole relationship thing. But that's okay, Gawain is happy to be patient.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Gawain | The Green Knight/The Weeping Monk | Lancelot (Cursed)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>I'll Pray For You [3]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1870960</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>245</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Not Too Much</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This pairing just really needs more fics, okay. I cannot be blamed.<br/>Lancelot had possibly the world's shittiest upbringing and Gawain is a good boyfriend. That's it, thats the plot.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Fey wine was sweet and fruity and surprisingly alcoholic so Gawain never had more than a glass when it was shared around the camp. It was enough to make him tipsy but he never wanted to be so drunk that he wouldn’t be able to defend his people if they were set upon in a surprise attack. He never went so far that his faculties were compromised.</p><p>Lancelot got halfway through his own glass that night. He still wasn’t quite sure of the taste and limited himself to small sips. Rather than focusing on the drink, he repeatedly found his eyes meeting Gawain’s over the rim and recognised the look there. They’d been… not sneaking around, exactly, but keeping it to themselves that they’d been stealing private moments. Whatever they had going on, it wasn’t something they wanted to share. Nimue had caught them, that very first time, but she was the only one who knew and as far as they were aware she hadn’t passed the news on.</p><p>When Gawain caught his eye one more time and gave him a meaningful look before standing up and heading away from the fireside, Lancelot was pretty sure that meant he should follow. He excused himself inelegantly and abruptly and hurried back through the camp to the tent he still shared with the other man. Ducking inside, he immediately found Gawain’s lips against his own, tasting faintly of the Fey wine.<br/>“How drunk are you?” Lancelot asked, the words muffled by the insistent kiss.</p><p>“Barely at all,” Gawain insisted, and truthfully. “I could still beat you in a duel, Ash Man.”</p><p>That might have been slightly less true, but he knew he was at least sober enough to give it his very best shot.</p><p>Lancelot pulled away to look carefully into Gawain’s eyes. His pupils weren’t dilated and he didn’t seem to be struggling to focus. As far as he could tell, Gawain was entirely capable of making decisions.</p><p>“Okay,” he accepted, with a nod.</p><p>Then he pulled Gawain back to him. Lancelot himself was just drunk enough to think this could be a good idea, but was pretty sure he was lucid enough to be making decisions too. And he very much didn’t want to stop what was happening.</p><p>They’d kissed before. Whatever it was they were doing, which neither of them had even tried to name, it had been going on for a handful of weeks and every couple of days when they could carve out some time they were likely to be uninterrupted, Gawain would pull him close and capture his lips.</p><p>That night, things felt slightly different. Rather than just wrap arms around his waist, Gawain tugged him across the tent and pushed him down against his mattress. Lancelot’s heart was beating wildly and he had to override his automatic response to fight against being held down as Gawain settled over him, knees either side of his hips. Suddenly there were surprisingly nimble fingertips making quick work of the lacing on the borrowed gambeson Lancelot was wearing, and his shirt was hiked up to his collarbone while hands explored his chest.</p><p>Lancelot was never one not to give as good as he got and he kissed back just as enthusiastically. He’d never quite gotten the courage to rid Gawain of his shirt before, but with the slight bubble of the alcohol fuelling his courage, he pulled impatiently at the fabric until Gawain got the idea and tugged it off over his head, barely pausing for a moment before returning to his determined task of kissing Lancelot until he forgot his own name.</p><p>Gawain had never thought that the first time he’d have the Weeping Monk pinned under him, they’d be shirtless and breathless and he’d be kissing his way down his neck. He’d always imagined there’d be rather more weapons involved.</p><p>It was more attention than Lancelot had ever received, more bare skin than he’d ever felt against his own, more vulnerable that he’d ever been. Each time Gawain touched him it felt like that touch went deeper than the surface, he could feel the heat of it right down to his bones and it was overwhelming. Just like the first time Gawain had helped him dress the scars on his back, tears tracked their way down his cheeks from the hyperstimulation. He didn’t even realise it was happening until Gawain noticed and pulled away, concerned. When Lancelot went to scrub the tears he saw the powerful trembles coursing through his hands and he knew that he’d ruined everything. Just as he suspected, Gawain shuffled away and sat on the edge of the mattress, putting a firm end to their activities despite Lancelot’s reaching hands.</p><p>Ashamed that he couldn’t keep it together, Lancelot drew his legs up and turned over, curling himself up. He fought to regain control of himself and tried to blink away the remaining tears that blurred his vision.</p><p>Lancelot’s entire body was shaking, and Gawain wanted to give him space but his ragged breaths didn’t seem to be slowing down so he carefully reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder. The other man leaned into the touch immediately, skin warm under Gawain’s palm.</p><p>“Do you want me to go?” he asked gently.</p><p>He was well aware that Lancelot wasn’t used to being allowed to express any emotions. It was very possible that he’d prefer to collect himself on his own, but he just shook his head.</p><p>“Stay,” he mumbled, not wanting to kick Gawain out of his own tent. “I’m sorry.”</p><p>It didn’t escape Gawain’s notice that the irony of the situation was palpable. It turned out that the way to subdue the Weeping Monk wasn’t swords and arrows, it was to kiss him senseless.</p><p>“You don’t need to be sorry,” Gawain whispered. His fingers subconsciously started to trace out a slow circle, steady and calming. “Do you want to talk about it? I won’t make you, but we probably should.”</p><p>Despite how much he’d managed to start to collect himself, Lancelot still tensed at the suggestion and pulled his limbs in tighter to make himself as small as possible. He didn’t do talking; he’d always been taught just to do as he was told and that his emotions didn’t matter and anything he thought, if it wasn’t the official party line of the Red Paladins, was wrong.</p><p>“You don’t need to be embarrassed. I assume no one’s touched you like that in… ever?” Gawain guessed.</p><p>Lancelot shook his head, his face flushed. He was glad it was hidden.</p><p>“It’s okay that it’s a little overwhelming,” Gawain continued, his voice as soothing as he could make it.</p><p>“I’m not a child,” Lancelot snapped. He hated how juvenile it made him sound, how inexperienced.<br/>“I know. But they denied you a lot of experiences people have growing up and it must be exhausting to have them all at once. I’m sorry I pushed you.”</p><p>That was what encouraged Lancelot to finally uncurl his spine and turn to look at his friend? His lover? Labels were difficult. But he wanted to insist that it wasn’t Gawain’s fault he had spent his entire life broken. When he shifted so he could see his face, he found Gawain was looking at him so gently, so reassuringly, that it made him feel better even over his own whirring brain. He relaxed just a little, his hands stopping shaking and his breathing levelling out. He knew he’d ruined the mood and they weren’t exactly going to return to their previous activities, but he didn’t expect Gawain to tug him down to lie on the mattress, pulling him into an embrace.</p><p>“Is this too much?” Gawain mumbled, lips so close to his ear it send a shiver down his neck.</p><p>It was enough that Lancelot had to focus on keeping his breathing even again, but he certainly wasn’t about to ask him to let go.</p><p>“No,” Lancelot whispered back. “It’s not too much.”</p><p>They didn’t need to say much else, lying together in peaceful silence until Lancelot’s skin stopped humming where Gawain was touching it and he could gradually relax. He never thought he would be comfortable in the embrace of the Green Knight but he couldn’t find much to complain about with the course his life had taken. He’d only ever slept alone before, but he found it easy to drift off to the reassuring rhythm of Gawain’s heartbeat under his ear.</p><p> </p><p>Gawain put two and two together and quickly realised that it was touch that Lancelot specifically wasn’t used to. Both times the man had been pushed to tears it had been triggered by kinds of tactility that he had likely never experienced. No one had ever taken care of his injuries. No one had ever tried to take him apart with lips and fingertips. Acclimatising to the concept that someone even <em>wanted</em> to touch him was clearly not anything that was going to come naturally to him. So Gawain was going to help.</p><p>He didn’t push things as far as he had that night for a while, not rebuking Lancelot’s occasional advances but not taking things too much further. Instead he invited Lancelot into his bed each night, to sleep in his arms, and he was rarely refused. It wasn’t sensible, considering there was always the chance the camp could be attacked in the dark and Gawain knew he slept too deeply and was slow to wake when he was that content, but he needed Lancelot to get used to the idea that he wanted to touch him, even just casually. That he was worthy of being wanted.</p><p>Lancelot wasn’t stupid. He knew what Gawain was doing, could read it in the way the Green Knight would trace the line of his spine though his shirt while they lay together at night, how he’d follow the birthmarks under his eyes with his thumb. Instinctively he wanted to fight against the familiarity but Gawain was silently insistent and Lancelot was weak to resist. So he found his place in Gawain’s bed, sometimes using his upper arm or chest as his pillow. He no longer felt overstimulated when he was touched too much; it became normal to feel Gawain’s hands on him, holding him close as they kissed or tracing the lines of the muscles in his arms as they drifted off to sleep.</p><p>The more comfortable Lancelot seemed, the bolder Gawain got. It was an early morning, the sun waking them both before their days officially had to begin, that found Lancelot laying on his stomach, shirtless thanks to the heat of the air outside, and baring his still severely scarred back. All of the freshest wounds were well on their way to healing and, while Gawain knew the skin would never be completely unblemished, he was determined to make sure it stayed free of new injuries by Lancelot’s hand.</p><p>He started tracing each scar, following them from end to end, starting with the oldest, barely visible ones that must have been done on youthful skin to heal so neatly. When he got to the newer marks he lightened his touch but was still aware that his fingers bore the callouses of a man adept with a sword and a bow.</p><p>“You can tell me to stop if you want. I know my hands are a little rough,” he said sheepishly, not wanting to cause any pain.</p><p>“I don’t want you to stop,” Lancelot mumbled, but there was something about it that gave Gawain pause.</p><p>Perhaps it was that neither of them were truly awake enough to start the day yet, or maybe he was just imagining things, but it didn’t sound sincere. He stopped his hands immediately and cut off the contact. Lancelot’s back was a site of punishment, it was where he inflicted pain to attempt to atone for the things he was told were wrong. Things like being Fey, like loving men. Almost everything that Gawain encouraged him to embrace. So he couldn’t shake the feeling that Lancelot wouldn’t have said anything if the injuries still hurt under Gawain’s fingers, because he knew the past was far from distant and there were still voices of torment and scorn in his head.</p><p>“Lancelot, if I ever hurt you I need you to tell me. I cannot be part of whatever punishment you think you deserve, it would kill me. I never want to hurt you,” Gawain insisted, a little frantic.</p><p>“I-“ Lancelot tried, but Gawain wasn’t done panicking.</p><p>“If you like that my hands are rough, that’s fine. Or if you find you like marks left on your neck or your hips then that’s all normal, but you have to <em>like</em> it. You can’t just tolerate it, or suffer through it. This is not a punishment. This is supposed to make you feel good.”<br/>“It does,” Lancelot insisted, not wanting things to stop. He appreciated how considerate Gawain was being and something was tugging at the edge of his mind. If he was being offered a change to set some terms of their relationship, whatever kind of relationship it was, then there was something he’d hate. “Just… don’t ever pull my hair.”</p><p>He still remembered Father Carden dragging him by his hair when he’d been a young boy and had misbehaved, his feet kicking to keep up and stay on the ground so he hair wasn’t pulled out at the roots. He didn’t want to connect whatever was going on between them to those memories. Gawain just covered his hand with his own and squeezed.<br/>“Okay, I won’t,” he promised, no questions asked. “Anything else?”</p><p>“Don’t…” Lancelot began, before trailing off. But he’d made it clear there was indeed something else and Gawain wasn’t going to let it go until he admitted to it. “Don’t tell me I’m damned or demon-born or-”</p><p>Gawain cut him off quickly.</p><p>“I never would. You won’t hear anything from me that those monsters said to you.”</p><p>It was reassuring and Lancelot found himself smiling. He reached up to trail the tips of his fingers down Gawain’s cheek, feeling stubble beneath them.</p><p>“What about you? What do you like?” he asked, his intent clear.</p><p>“Maybe you’ll have to find out,” Gawain teased, leaning forward to press a kiss to Lancelot’s mouth before grazing his lips over to his ear. “But you are more than welcome to pull on my hair.”</p>
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